Learning to Cook
by Dina M
Summary: LukeLorelai. Less descriptive than my other fics, more dialogue.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Thanks to all who commented on my last fic! Good, bad, and in between. ;) I'm leaving it the way it is though, lacking explanation and very uneven, it was just something I wrote in about an hour, hit or miss, and apparently it was a miss, but I'm not going to dwell on it. This fic is (I'm planning) going to consist of three parts… please review…:) AU

Disclaimer: surprise, surprise, there characters are still not mine!

**Brownies**

_Ingredients: 4 squares unsweetened Baking Chocolate, ¾ cup butter or margarine, 2 cups sugar, 3 eggs, 1 tsp. vanilla, 1 cup flower._

The blinds were down, only a small number of rays managing to permeate through and shine into Lorelai's room. The horizontal slits glowed at the edges as the sun's insatiable beams threatened to escape through the blinds, and disturb the room's occupants. Well, one of the occupants was already awake, while the other was still sleeping, head buried into the pillows.

"_Luuuke, hey Luke_" whispered Lorelai.

"_Hey Luke, wake up," _more loudly and impatiently this time. Moving over towards his side of the bed, she started to gently kiss his ears, slowly working down towards his neck, all the while seductively whispering "_Luke" _into his ear.

The sleeping thing that was Luke buried himself even deeper into his pillow, but slowly the kisses began to draw him out of hiding, and he began to kiss her back, all over her face, before finally finding his preferred destination, and gently planting a tender kiss on her warm lips. _She could've let him sleep, really, what with the excitement last night, but what would be the fun in that? _Smiling back and smoothing his hair, she flopped down onto the bed with a content sigh.

"_Hey Luke, do you remember when on Friends, Monica was wearing a turkey on her head, and Chandler said I love you and Monica was really happy but Chandler tried to pretend he never said it? You know, the I love you?"_

Unfairly tricked into waking up by the lure and promise of her kissing, Luke was beginning to drift off to sleep, but he grunted in acknowledgement.

"_Unfortunately, Yes."_

Her eyes sparkled as she began to snuggle up next to him, her hands reaching under the blankets to touch his skin.

"_Yeah, well our way was much better,"_ she mused with a smile.

"_That it was," _he answered, delicately cupping her hands in his, rubbing them playfully. They were both silent for a few minutes, enjoying the comfortable and natural silence.

---

_Microwave unsweetened chocolate and butter in large microwaveable bowl on high 2 minutes or until the butter is melted. Stir until chocolate is completely melted._

---

Luke was standing in Lorelai's kitchen, a pan in each hand. But he didn't have a confident, happy look on his face that usually accompanied his cooking. No, he looked incredulous, doubtful. He wasn't alone; someone else was in the kitchen, someone who didn't belong there. Lorelai. In fact, if this was one of those what's-wrong-with-the-picture games, it would be easy to guess that Lorelai didn't belong. Because she wasn't there to watch Luke as he cooked, she was there to cook, herself. That's right, Miss. Luke-has-to-cook-all-of-my-food-because-I-can't was standing in the kitchen, hands on hips, sporting a bright pink apron, outfit completed by a tall white chef's hat.

"_I can't even decide what looks more wrong," _Luke chuckled.

"_Oh come on," _Lorelai was spouting. "_What if I turn out to be just like the girl in Legally Blonde, and cooking is actually my calling, and even though in the past I've run into some difficulties with cooking, maybe I just need to meet a really hot guy who…oh, who can cook, not do the lawyer thing that the other guy did, and of course there'll be some annoying bitchy preppy cook who tries to steal my hot cook boyfriend, but in the end she'll realize how amazing and wonderful I am, and we'll be best friends for ever! Except when I become a famous cook, I'll leave her behind and run off with my hot boyfriend." _ The amused look on Luke's face just spurred her on.

"_I mean, really, I can eat, right? And I've watched you cook, so how hard can it be? Besides…"_ she murmured beguilingly, "_I have you Luke, my hot boyfriend who can cook, to help me. And you know, if this doesn't work out, we can do other things in the kitchen…" _she whispered seductively, slowly curling her index finger towards her, grinning.

---

_Stir in sugar. Add eggs and vanilla; mix well. Add flour; stir until well blended. Spread into greased foil-lined 13x9-inch baking pan._

---

"_She has the greatest laugh in the world" _he thought. "_But dammit, why is her kitchen so cluttered? It's not like she actually uses it!" _Luke pondered, wincing and rubbing his head, glaring at the oven door.

"_Oh come on Luke, why'd you stop your bit?" _she cooed, stifling a laugh and beaming at him. Luke rolled his eyes.

"_It was not a bit Lorelai," _he responded, face serious, but eyes lovingly surveying his laughing girlfriend.

"_Alright, suure it wasn't a bit," _she answered. "_So how do you think the brownies turned out? Hey, maybe if they're really good, then I can help you bake brownies for the customers at the diner."_

"_Lorelai, you already have a job. And I don't want to kill off all my customers with your cooking," _he teased, walking up beside her. She pretended to pout, but quickly brightened.

"_Well, at least we get to eat all of these," _she bubbled, as Luke wiped off some dough from her cheeks.

"_Lorelai, only you could get so dirty while making brownies… and with a simple recipe, might I add…" _began Luke, chortling quietly.

---

_Bake at 350° for 30 to 35 minutes or until the toothpick inserted in center comes out with fudgy crumbs._

---

It's late, golden rays stream through the open windows, high-pitched chirping of birds, lilac-scented breezes, and soft crunching of gravel outside mix to form the pleasing atmosphere of eagerly-anticipated, newly-arrived spring. She's comfortable in her lacy camisole and knee-length skirt, toes softly pressed against the couch, turned slightly upwards towards the beams of sun. She wiggles them, giggling, as they enjoy the warm spring breeze, the confining layer of socks or stockings or tights gone for now, replaced with nothing but open air. The crunching of gravel grows steadily louder, until the door is open, and Luke steps inside.

"_Thanks for taking the trash out," _she smiles. "_I mean, we could've taken the trash out later, but really, bad brownies don't belong here… who knows, maybe I'll forget they're poisonous and eat them, and then I might die, and you wouldn't want that! I didn't know they would be that terrible! Besides…I wanted them out, and you're here to do my bidding, aren't you?"_ Her grin widens, lips curving coyly, and she winks at him. Well, tries to wink.

"_Lorelai, those brownies were not poisonous, but they were pretty terrible, I'll give you that. Promise me you'll leave the cooking up to me from now on."_

"_Hey!" _she protests. "_Youu should have stopped me! I must have been temporarily insane and thought I was Julia Child or something. You, on the other hand, mister, should have known better." _ Somehow, he knows he can't win. And he doesn't care.

"_I love you, crazy lady,"_ he breathes, sliding onto the couch, enveloping her with a gentle embrace, his hands on her face, tongue and lips seeking out her mouth.

---

_Cool in pan. Lift out of pan onto cutting board. Cut into 24 squares, drizzle each square with melted semi-sweet chocolate, if desired. Let stand until set. Makes 24 servings, 1 square each._

---

AN2: Thanks for reading! (To anyone who made it this far P ). Next up, chapter 2, 'Almond Biscotti'. And remember, the more reviews I get, the faster I'll write. Hopefully this is more readable than the last thing. ) Oh, and the recipe for brownies is an actual recipe… it's the one I use, and the brownies come out really well… if anybody cares. Which you probably don't. x)


	2. Chapter 2

AN: I guess it wasn't clear, but I started the fic off on the morning after they said I love you… the ILYs were said before the story began. b long explanation when I was a lot younger, and had read pretty much all the books we had at home, my dad gave me one of his books to read, and I don't remember the name, but I remember that it started off somewhat in the middle of the story, leaving the reader to gradually pick up on the back-story. Soo, ever since them I've really liked that method, and I tried to utilize it somewhat because I think it's very interesting to somehow inform the reader of what happened, without actually describing or explaining the event. How well it comes out is usually the mark of a good/bad writer, imo. /long explanation /b The recipe thing was an idea I had based loosely on one of Kurt Vonnegut's books (because I like, worship him). There were short recipes scattered throughout the book. I think it was Dead-eye Dick, but I'm not sure. Thank you so much for your reviews, they mean a lot. Keep 'em coming! ;)

A million thanks to **George Eliot** for beta-ing.

**Almond Biscotti**

_Ingredients: 1 cup granulated sugar, 1 cup light brown sugar, 2 eggs- beaten, 1/3 cup oil, 2 tablespoons water, 2 teaspoons cinnamon, 2 teaspoons baking powder, ½ teaspoon powdered cloves, 2 ½ cups flour, cup slivered almonds or almond pieces, 1 extra yolk._

She can remember dragging photo albums to her parents when she was a little girl. Blue eyes wide, curls bouncing uncontrollably, she would run down the stairs, clutching the brown leather-bound album, her tiny feet pattering on the stairs. Sometimes it was a mission; sometimes she tried to find her parents before they had left for yet another event or function. Usually she would bound down the stairs, too late, reaching the landing only in time to hear the swish of fabric on Emily's dress, the creak of Richard's shoes on the floorboards, and to catch only a glimpse of her parents' backs as they swept out of the house.

Although her tears and whimpers were often met with condescending stares as the maids wandered off to smoke or watch television, giving no thought to her at all, sometimes the maids were kind and sympathetic. Lorelai could remember once or twice when she had stopped short in the foyer after the door had slammed, album clutched tightly in her puffy fingers, and the maid leaned down and dried her tears, taking her into the kitchen and making her tea. Back then she didn't know what coffee was, and was content to slurp her lukewarm fruity tea, gently hitting the silver teaspoon against her cup, making music.

She likes the idea- sitting down with your family to reminisce about old times while gazing at pictures of people physically gone but still remembered. A sort of drinking-hot-cocoa-on-Christmas-Eve, hanging-stockings-together tradition she fantasizes about. At the Gilmore house, Christmas was about appearance, about stiff formalities. It was coming into the kitchen, lured by delicious aromas, to find not an apron-clad mother but a uniformed maid.

Someday she'll have it, the hot cocoa, the stockings, the whole package. But in the meantime, she enjoys what she has—a terrific kid, a loving boyfriend, and a whole town of crazy but caring friends.

---

_Mix together first five ingredients_

---

Every once in a while, Lorelai pulls out the photo albums. With Rory, she pulled out the baby albums around the Christmas holidays, and occasionally at other times when she felt Rory was down or unhappy. She could expect laughter, sometimes tears, when they paged through the albums, these emotions of course accompanied by the consumption of massive amounts of junk food.

With Luke, his photo album was somehow _more_ than an album. She remembers the first time she saw his album and the pictures of his parents. She wanted to see them, and there was fluttering of eyelashes (On her part. Luke is much too manly for eyelash fluttering, don't you think?), kissing, and other romantic endeavors (Lorelai had many extremely effective methods), until one evening he brought over tha album. It was small, black, worn. She half expected it to have a flannel cover. They sat together on the couch, Lorelai wrapped in Luke's arms, cuddling against his warm body as she thumbed through the album, incessantly asking questions. Well, cautiously at first, then more rapidly, as she saw that he enjoyed the questions. The last picture in the album was of Luke's parents on their wedding day. i _They look beautiful_ /i , she had said. i _Yeah_ /i , he had agreed, his voice (she thought) throaty and hoarse. Someday she'll make a copy of the picture, and make it really big, and frame it. And hang it where Luke will see it every day.

Luke had been especially tender with her that night, his kisses gentle and sweet. That night felt different—their movements, their whispers, their breath took on new meaning. She knew it was cheesy, but she was certain she had felt the change in Luke. She didn't press it, for once, and instead silently savored and enjoyed the new-found comfort and ease between them. The photo album stayed at Lorelai's house after that. Luke's presence has gradually become more visible around the house, the photo album a constant reminder. And Lorelai likes it.

Today she wants to look at the album again.

---

_Sift together cinnamon, baking powder, cloves and flour. Add to first mixture along with the almonds._

---

"_Luuke, why did you stop?" _she complained, her hand stroking his thigh. Lorelai was lying on the couch, her head resting on Luke's lap, eyes partially closed, as Luke scratched behind her ears. The photo album lay discarded on the coffee table, his parents' faces smiling up at him. It still felt a little weird to be sharing this part of his past with Lorelai, but it was soothing at the same time.

_Really, this is ridiculous!_ muttered Luke to himself. He was rather annoyed at himself for his inability to say no when she asked him for something. Not now with the ear-scratching, not ever. He shifted around slightly. "_Ahh but you like it, don't you?_ wheedled a voice in the back of his head. In fact, Luke did like it. A lot. Lorelai's slender body was sprawled out on the couch, jeans tightly hugging the curves of her body, her feet curled up at one end, head resting in his lap. He ran his fingers through her luscious brown curls, pausing abruptly.

"_Lorelai, did you just bite me?"_ he asked.

"_Luke, I'm a cat, and cats bite. Besides, it wasn't **that** /b hard."_ she responded, snickering. "_And I bet you liked it! Luke, didn't it make you all h—_"

" _Lorelai."_ he warned, an edge in his voice.

"_What, Luke, I didn't say anything!"_

"_But you were going to."_

"_Oh, so now I can't say anything to my boyfriend? Well, for your information, I was going to say that I wanted some coffee! And now, you'll miss out on the pleasure of bringing me coffee, and before you know it, I might have to look elsewhere for my caffeine-fix. So you better be careful, or you might have competition."_ Grinning slyly, she moved around a bit until she was looking up at his face. They were silent for a few moments.

"_Hey Luke, tell me about your mother."_ Lorelai asked, softly.

---

_Separate dough into 3 parts and roll each part into a rope. Place on greased or oiled cookie sheet and flatten_.

---

"_Well, she was a pretty amazing woman_," recalled Luke. "_Sometimes…. Sometimes she would draw. Mostly nature and stuff, she liked to draw while my father _

_fished by the lake. I still have some of her old pictures, but I haven't looked at them in _

_years, you know kind of like the boat, before you… bought it. Pretty stupid, huh?"_ He paused. _ I haven't talked about this with anyone_… She was quiet, and when she responded, her voice was faint and melodious.

"_Luke, you don't have to tell me this unless you want to."_

"_No, it's ok. Good to get it out every once in a while, you know?_ he responded.

"_Yeah, I know."_

---

Brush with mixture of egg yolk and water.

---

Two beers (each) later, Luke and Lorelai were still on the couch, Lorelai playing with Luke's hands, rubbing his rough fingers with her soft palms. She had just finished telling Luke about Michel's antics at the inn that day: he had lost Paw-Paw's collar and searched through all of the Inn's rooms (occupied and unoccupied) to find it. Results varied; customers ranged from slightly annoyed to extremely annoyed, most fitting into the latter category. It took a lot of sweet talking on Lorelai's part, and some offers for free dinner, but thankfully the matter had been resolved without fisticuffs. 'I'm the female Kofi Annan,' Lorelai concluded proudly."

"Remind me to do something evil to Michel tomorrow though, ok? And I mean, completely evil." Lorelai added. Her chin was slightly digging into Luke's lap, a constant but reassuring sense of pressure.

--

Bake at 375° for 20 minutes or until center is slightly firm

--

"_Luke, do you know how hot you are right now?" _Lorelai asked, resting her chin on her hand, gazing thoughtfully at the man in her kitchen.

"_I mean, it's taking a lot of strength not to jump at you like I'm a tiger and you're Roy,"_ she added.

"_Lorelai, stop it"_ he interjected.

"_Oh Luke, don't be so modest. I mean, the way you just **grabbed** that spatula, and took control of all the utensils in my kitchen! The **force ** with which you shoved the biscotti into the oven, the ferocious look of pride on your face!" _Her voice low and seductive, she gave Luke her best come-hither look. He sighed in exasperation, loving every second of it.

"_Lorelai, I have to clean up the mess in the kitchen. Don't even **try** to distract me."_

"_Fine. You men and your weird kitchen rituals…" _she began, shrugging her shoulders in mock frustration.

"_This isn't a 'ritual'. I'm cleaning up." _He gave the counter a few swipes with a damp cloth, turning around to look Lorelai in the face.

"_Seriously, soo much strength and self restraint!" _ whined Lorelai, her mouth fixed in a concentrated grimace. He chuckled inwardly. _She looked so damn cute. And he knew that she knew it._

--

_Cool slightly on rack._

--

"_Oh my God. This is amazing!" _she gasped, looking up at him from her plate of almond biscotti.

"_You seem surprised,"_ he teased good-naturedly.

"_No, I'm not surprised, I'm just… wow. Seriously, this is heaven on earth! And this is so delicious I may just not be stay mad at you for long." _ His face initially registered confusion, although, he thought wryly, this was Lorelai, and he should be used to this. This, being, well, everything that was so different about Lorelai and unlike anyone else.

"_Because mister, you've known me for what, 8 or 9 years? And you never shared this with me. You're- you're Deep Throat, that's who you are!"_ He rolled his eyes.

"_Ben Bradlee, maybe. Deep Throat, no."_

"_Whatever." _Luke reached his arms across the table, gently grasping her hands in his, with much less protesting on her part than he had expected. He was, after all, getting between Lorelai and her dessert. Her blue eyes wide, she gazed back at him, fingers gently caressing his hands, a smile flickering on her face. This was one of those moments. One of those moments to remember and treasure for the rest of your life, to reflect upon during tough times. A memory to remain unscathed and untarnished, perfectly preserved for all of eternity. A single moment, a melodic note on which to begin a song, the first step of a long journey. A lone snapshot, the humble beginning of a weathered photo album, to be lovingly and carefully handled by many, passed down from generation to generation.

"_You know Luke, I don't think I've ever loved you as much as I do now,"_ she whispered, drawing out each word.

"_Me neither," _came his reply. His voice faded, and a supreme silence filled the kitchen. The dishwasher hummed in the background, and a few drops squeezed from the faucet into the sink. But for them, there was only silence. Silence and the two of them gazing at each other, eyes interlocked.

--

_Slice diagonally with sharp knife. Serve._

--

AN2: reviews greatly appreciated :)


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